Stygian

by Nashoda Rose

  “Not yet,” he repeated.

  I took several deep breaths, my body ready to crash over the edge with the slightest touch and he must have known it because he waited.

  He fuckin’ waited and every time I opened my mouth to beg him, he frowned and it was a frown that made me keep quiet because there was no give. It was determined control.

  Once my breathing slowed he started again and my body trembled at his touch. It was like I was his instrument and he’d been tuning it. Now . . . now he was playing it.

  Harder, faster, again and again, until the sweet sensations rose to a point of no return.

  “Come. Come in my mouth, baby.”

  Spasms shook my body like I’d never experienced before and I screamed his name as waves of pleasure jolted through my insides like an orchestra of sensations.

  Finally, the waves slowed and I relaxed, legs falling open and my hands that were clenched into the sheet released. Holy shit.

  I opened my eyes and came up on my elbows and smiled. “Balen?”

  “Hmm.” He kissed my stomach then came to his feet.

  “I want you inside me.” I sat up and reached for his hand, but he moved away. “Where are you going?”

  “I have to go.”

  My smile dropped. “No. You’re not leaving. You don’t get to leave. Not yet. Do you hear me?” I’d just had the best orgasm of my life and he wanted to walk away. Leave. But I knew it wasn’t just about the sex. The thought of him leaving me made me . . . uneasy. It was as if something bad was going to happen if he left.

  I was being ridiculous, and didn’t believe in coincidences and fate and all that, but after painting his picture for two years and then having him show up at my gallery, my gut was all I had and right now, it said don’t let him leave.

  “DANNI—”

  “No. We need this. If this is all we have then it’s everything. I want to feel all of you, Balen.”

  Fuck. My cock was so hard right not, it was painful, but when I fucked a woman it wasn’t soft and gentle. I fucked her. And Danni, she was fighting a broken memory of abuse and torture, I couldn’t do that to her.

  “Tasting you . . . Fuck, hearing you scream with pleasure, Danni . . . that was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I want to walk away with that to take with me.” I backed away and bent down to pick up my jeans.

  “No.” She crawled off the bed and grabbed the jeans from my hand and threw them aside. “One night. I want one night and so do you.”

  I watched her luscious hips sway as she walked over to her nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out a foiled package. Jesus. This was more than just screwing some chick. This was Danni, the woman I couldn’t forget. She lived inside me. Scars had instincts much stronger than humans, but I knew she felt it, too—this shattering need.

  Maybe it was because I’d been obsessing about her for so long.

  I walked over to her, not sure what I was going to do when I got there until I felt her hands on my cock. And then any resistance I may have had—ended.

  I groaned, closing my eyes and tilting my head back. “Fuck.”

  She rolled the condom on and then slid her hands up my chest, slowly and gently, exactly opposite as to what I was fighting to do to her.

  Submit! screamed in my head over and over again.

  My mouth drove down on hers in a brutal assault, tasting what I had to have. When she submitted to my kiss, lips pliant beneath mine the roar inside me settled to a steady thrum.

  I squeezed her ass and what I got in return was a sweet vibration of her moan under my mouth. I hitched her up and placed her on the edge of the dresser; then pulled back a bit so I could look at her. Her lips were red and swollen and her cheeks flushed, but it was her eyes that made my breath catch. There was desire smoldering in the depths but also—quietness, and I felt it too. It was as if this constant screaming I’d felt to be with her had calmed and it was . . . peaceful.

  She smiled and my heart skipped a beat. “Fuck me, Balen.”

  Adorable. She was fuckin’ adorable and I wanted to encase that smile and put it in a jar and take it with me so I could look at it any time I wanted.

  I grinned. “Okay, little one.” I took hold of my cock and slid it up and down through her moist sex. Her legs locked around my waist and she slipped further off the edge of the dresser. Her eyes closed and she arched her back. I leaned forward, taking her nipple in my mouth, then bit down at the same time as I drove my hips forward, pushing my cock deep.

  I groaned as the tightness blanketed me.

  Danni tensed. “Yes. God, yes.”

  Her hands delved into my hair as I pulled out, and then sunk deep again. Our naked bodies smacked together each time I thrust inside her.

  Harder.

  Faster.

  “Give me all of you,” I growled as I furiously locked her to me and drove into her again and again.

  Rough.

  Carnal.

  My hands bruising on her flesh.

  The dresser banged against the wall and books crashed to the floor.

  Possession gripped me and my body roared.

  She suddenly screamed my name and her muscles contracted around my cock.

  “Fuck, Danni.” I couldn’t hold on any longer as her body quivered and I groaned, pumping into her one last time as my orgasm ripped through me.

  I remained frozen, locked inside her, unable to speak for several seconds, waiting for my mind to calm. Her face snuggled into my shoulder and I was afraid to pull away and see her eyes. If I hurt her. If I scared her . . . Christ, it would be my final destruction.

  Danni pulled back and stared at me, her eyes wide with . . . pleasure? Please let me do this one thing right. Everything was shit. I’d broken my loyalty. Betrayed my own blood for . . .

  Her.

  This woman I held in my arms. She lived and I’d take this one night I had with her with me to whatever fate I was handed by the Deaconry.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Shit yeah. I’m . . . I don’t know. I feel lighter or something.”

  “I didn’t hurt you?”

  She kissed me at the corner of my lips. “No. I just don’t like being restrained.”

  Yeah, because of that fuckin’ vampire, Ryszard. He did that to her. I clenched my jaw and felt the rising fury as my blood rushed through my veins.

  She stroked her finger across my brow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I helped her off the dresser, and then went into the washroom to get rid of the condom. I pressed my foot down on the stainless steel trash can’s lever and it clanged as the lid rose. I tossed the condom, glancing up at the mirror and stopped.

  Fuck, what was I doing?

  I rested my hands on the edge of the sink and hung my head. Everything in me screamed to say fuck it and run with her. Disappear. I managed it for two years, I could . . .

  Impossible. Danni and I were impossible.

  The floor creaked as she came up behind me and rested her hands on my hips. “Stay the night.”

  This was insane. Everything about us was insane. I’d broken the Scars law. Jesus. I could be dead tomorrow.

  “For what, Danni. So that it hurts even more when I have to leave in the morning?” I scoffed, shaking my head. “Fuck, Danni. This is it. I’m leaving. I’m not coming back. I can’t protect you and I sure as hell can’t be with you.”

  “I never asked for more, Balen.”

  One night.

  Her hands glided down my tatted arms to my hands where she linked them with mine on the edge of the sink. Her scent was all around me, begging me to give her what she wanted.

  She trailed kisses along the back of my neck, and when I opened my eyes and looked at our reflection in the mirror . . .

  Holding me.

  Connected to me.

  Fuck, she was part of me.

  And I knew I couldn’t leave. Not yet. I needed to hold her. Have her sleep in my arms without the nightmares of her sc
reams threatening my sanity.

  I turned in her arms then lowered my head and when I kissed her this time, it was soft and gentle.

  “One night.” Tomorrow, death or Rest would end what had never had the chance to begin.

  I led her to the bed, threw back the covers, and she crawled beneath them. I slipped in beside her and she instantly tucked into my side, her cheek resting on my chest and her leg on top of my thigh. I caressed her hair, memorizing the feel of the strands between my fingers.

  I kissed the top of her head. “Your tattoo, what is it?”

  Danni tilted her head and peered up at me, smiling. Jesus, that smile. I’d never seen it in the cages, all I’d seen was torment. “You noticed it? I didn’t think you had the chance.”

  “I took every chance to look at your hot ass, babe.” I squeezed her to me and she rubbed her leg up my thigh and I groaned as my cock jerked. Fuck, I wanted to take her again, but I knew if I did, I’d never let her go.

  “I was a bit of a rebel growing up. My mom died when I was ten and my dad . . . well, he wasn’t around much.” Her finger circled my nipple and my arm tightened on her hip. “Crying for freedom of expression, I guess, I dragged Anstice with me on my eighteenth birthday. It means nothing, really. Just something I designed.” I’d only caught a flash of black ink on her and now I wanted to see it. Tattoos for Scars had a lot of meaning and one in particular—our Ink. A tattoo that could be called to life.

  “Turn over.” I tossed the covers back and she flipped onto her stomach, looking over her shoulder at me. She had this sassy cute look in her eyes that made my heart ache.

  “My tattoo was my first real work of art. Can’t sell it though. Funny that you have a similar one on your back.”

  My eyes trailed down her body to her ass. Then everything inside me froze. “Fuck.” My heart pounded and there was a churning in my stomach. Holy shit, it was a tiger. A goddamn tiger.

  “What? Something wrong with it?”

  Shit. What the hell? One hell of a coincidence that my Ink was a tiger and Danni had a similar tattoo.

  She flipped back over and crawled partially on top of me and kissed my chin. “What’s wrong?”

  I cleared my throat and got my shit back under control then weaved my fingers in her hair and met her eyes. “Nothing. It’s . . . it’s beautiful. That’s all.”

  Her finger slid over my tattoo around my left bicep. An intricate design that combined the sun, moon, and a flying fish with lines that weaved and blended, making nothing appear as it was. My tattoo on the back of my right shoulder was a scaled dragon breathing fire, but the body was transforming into a hawk that was in a dive.

  My Ink was on my lower back and I’d had it all my life. The tiger sat on its haunches as if waiting for something. Well, the tiger would have to wait a long time because I had no intention of letting my Ink loose. My tiger was unmanageable, deadly and would destroy any in its path. When I released it, my Ink devoured without consequence. Lucky for me, Talu—that was what I called it—was content to remain concealed until I called upon him. Unlike Damien’s unstable Ink, which fought to rise every time Damien lost his temper, which was all the fuckin’ time.

  “I like this one.” She lowered her head and kissed my bicep. “Do they mean anything?”

  “No.” Talu would never be called to rise when near Danni. What the fuck was I talking about? After tonight, I’d never see her again. Even if I was sentenced to Rest, she was mortal. She’d be dead by the time I rose. Because, sure as shit, if the Deaconry didn’t kill me, they’d put me in Rest, a coma-like state, for a century. I tightened my hold on her and stared up at the ceiling. “Go to sleep, Danni.”

  I felt her eyes on me and the tension in her body, and knew what was coming. “Maybe one day you’ll come back?”

  “No. I’m not coming back.”

  She remained quiet for several minutes, our heartbeats matching in a slow, easy rhythm. “Balen?” she said with a husky whisper.

  “Hmm?”

  “Thank you for this,” she said.

  No one had ever told me thank you in my entire life. Fuck, I didn’t deserve her even for one night.

  Her body relaxed, and she sighed as she snuggled into me and drifted off to sleep.

  I remained awake, wanting to remember every second I held her in my arms, cement the memory.

  At sunrise, I slipped from her arms, careful not to wake her. I watched her for a few minutes, memorizing every inch of her face.

  “Goodbye, little one.”

  I STRODE INTO THE Deaconry room and approached the oblong marble table. Light blue candles shimmered from two oversized iron chandeliers that hung from above. Columns of white silk curtains draped along the far wall with paintings representing the four elements between.

  I didn’t bother removing my coat since feeling temperature in the realm was nonexistent. One was neither hot nor cold, something I valued about this place.

  The four Elemental Wraiths remained in the realm of, what I referred to as, a fantasy land. Because what you saw was not always what it was. The Wraiths were creative when it came to their home. When entering the realm, it took time to adjust to the invariable blue haze that settled over your vision. Blue being a color of peace and calm, it was a favorite of the Wraiths, except Edan’s, the volatile Wraith of Fire.

  Genevieve walked into the room in long, graceful strides. She was the Wraith of Water and a powerful Healer for those of her kind. However, she rarely used her gift, since the Wraiths were seldom harmed. She had a fascination with the emotion of love, although she’d never been known to be linked to any man or woman. She was a bystander, allowing others to be spellbound by what I considered an illusion of love.

  Genevieve’s sophisticated beauty could bring a man to his knees. Inquisitive and yet diffident, her eyes sparkled a cerulean blue when calm and changed to a deep golden when distressed or angered.

  I sensed an impish woman was beneath her apparent quiet nature. Despite knowing the Wraiths for three centuries, I didn’t live among them and, therefore, I couldn’t be definite as to what Genevieve was really like.

  I approached the table and bowed my head, meeting the gaze of each Deaconry member. There were the four Wraiths, a witch, and then myself and Zurina on behalf of the Scars. There was one other that never attended any judgments—Azzurra, the Goddess who created us all.

  The Wraiths had abilities to control certain aspects of nature. Their weakness was fighting against the evil in the human world, which was where the Scars came in.

  My eyes met Mariana, the representative of the witches’ covens, who sat at the far right of the table beside Edan. She wore a white, silk, double-breasted coat that clung to every curve of her voluptuous body. She had three dreadlocks on the right side of her brow line and the rest of her ebony hair hung long and straight, well past her shoulders. Her skin was alabaster, her eyes dark-walnut. She had narrow lips, which she loved to run her tongue across seductively. She excelled at reading emotions, even my own, which pissed me off, because I could block all others. But in the hundreds of years I’d known Mariana, she’d never once alluded to knowing what I was feeling. For that, the seductive witch had gained my respect. However, trusting any witch would be completely foolish.

  I sat beside Zurina on the far left of the table. She smiled, and I bowed my head in return. She had a calm demeanor, with wisdom. Her strength spoke volumes as she had three of the senses—a Taster, Visionary, and Healer. She also had the gift of Tracing, like myself. Meaning she could teleport to places she’d previously been.

  Flames flickered on pedestals in the four corners of the room. A fountain in the shape of a woman and man entwined in one another’s arms stood in the center. In one hand, the man held a flame rising from his palm, and the woman had a flower tucked behind her ear. She had long, flowing hair that billowed around them as if it had been swept up by a gentle breeze. A stream of water flowed in an arc between their bodies into an eight-point, marble pool
that had soft-pink pebbles on the bottom. The water from the spout was golden, but as it hit the pool, it became cerulean blue.

  “For the excellence of nature, for the peace of all living, and for the good of the universe, we join together,” Tor, the Wraith of Earth said in a raspy voice. A hint of cinnamon drifted into the air as he spoke. He changed scents every so often, but cinnamon was one of his favorites. I hated all the scents; cinnamon pissed me off the most.

  Tor met each of our eyes, giving a nod in greeting, then paused on Genevieve. She in turn raised her slender hands toward the fountain and the water from the spout turned blue, matching that in the pool.

  The meeting began.

  Edan, Wraith of Fire, spoke first. He was explosive, quick-tempered, and rumored to burn a human when they did something that pissed him off—the burns, of course, were mild, more like a bothersome mosquito bite. “He drank vampire blood then fucked off for two years. This shit should’ve been finished years ago. He should be put in Rest or dead.”

  I fiddled with my candy dispenser in my right coat pocket. The thought of any Scar put to Rest pissed me off. Edan pissed me off. Rest was for the disloyal, the dangerous, and the few Scars who turned corrupt. Reliving your worst memories in a coma-like state was described as hell. But it was worse than that. It was a constant movie of your vilest thoughts being replayed until your sentence in Rest was over.

  Tarek, Delara’s ex-maite, deserved such a fate. Balen did not.

  I had run out of options though. I’d fought the Deaconry over leaving Balen’s fate in the hands of the Scars. But the law had been written by the Wraiths and Scars. Balen drank vampire blood and was guilty. There was nothing more I could do, except try to coerce the others to give a lesser sentence.

  Tor said, “We discuss the issue of Balen, a Scar Tracker of the Talde in Toronto.” He glared at Edan and I suspected it was for speaking before the issue had been announced. Edan shrugged then leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “He drank the blood of Ryszard, a vampire. He betrayed Anstice, his blood sister and Healer. His fate is in the embrace of the Deaconry. Speak, Waleron, on behalf of your Scar.”